


The Dragon's Daughter

by The13th



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Jon Snow, Baby Targ, Dany is alive, F/M, Father-daughter adventure, Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon's depressed, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, R Plus L Equals J, Slow Burn, Somewhere in essos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:16:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The13th/pseuds/The13th
Summary: Jon's living a miserable life beyond the wall with his friend Tormund and his old Hand Davos, taking care of the older man ever since he arrived in the snow out of his mind. Worried about his health, Jon swears to look after his old friend.But what happens when a young girl with dark raven curls and big bright violet eyes comes into their camp claiming to be the daughter of a dead queen. As well as Being chased by a gang of sellswords, led by Bronn of the Blackwater.Jon is thrown back into a life of fighting, just to get his daughter back into the arms of the woman he killed.





	1. Alone In The Cold North

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based off Logan (2017)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you for giving this story a shot! :)  
> Just a heads up, the grammar might not be the best, I don't have any beta reader or anything. I do use a spellchecker, but other than that it's just me.

Jon's hands shook as he pulled the string of the longbow back, arrow notched, aiming at his prey. A stag stood five yards from his position, chewing on his food. The snow covered most of the creatures feet, leaving its upper body exposed. It's large antlers protruding from its head with grace and beauty, brushing the thickets above the absent-minded creature. As Jon took in a deep breath, the Stag darted its head towards his position, staring at him with big black orbs. Jon felt his breath hitch as a sudden flash appeared before him, and the black spheres slowly morphed into deep violet pools, staring into his soul. Every muscle in his body began to shake as memories rushed into his mind, filling him with a wave of emotions. As Jon let the string go, the arrow soared through the air and missed the stag wide.

**Thunk!**

The arrow implanted into the bark of a pine tree, scaring off the Stag. Jon watched as his failure ran away, rushing through the snow, filled with adrenaline. Until a white silhouette appeared out from behind the shadows and tackled the scared Stag down into the snow. A few seconds of struggle was soon followed by silence. The snow around the dead stag turned a frightening red. As Jon stepped closer, two red beady eyes looked up at his approaching owner. 

"Good boy, Ghost," Jon huffed softly, marching through the heavy snow and towards the fresh kill his direwolf achieved. A quick pet and few long struggles of tying the Stag's feet together with rope,  Jon was once again mounted on his stallion with the stag's carcass hanging off the back end. They made the long and cold journey through the woods beyond the wall, towards the encampment himself and Tormund set up. The snow caught on Jon's long dark beard he has been growing for a while, only trimming it when it became a burden to him. Grooming and looking after himself has become nonexistent to Jon. He felt too much pain to care, too much anger and guilt. The only peace he can find in the world is with his wolf, ghost. The direwolf that stayed by his side all this time, trotting along helping his master wherever he needs. That was most if not all the time. But he didn't have to suffer Jon's grief alone, Tormund was there. 

Tormund helped Jon get settled in the land beyond the wall, the harsh frozen wasteland. He looked after the moping man, helping him stay alive. Jon couldn't count how many times he wished to curl up in his furs and let death take him. _Why did he deserve to live? After everything, he has done?_ He has nothing left but Ghost, Tormund, and Davos who had come to them a few moons past, seeking shelter. He looked like he walked through all the seven hells. When Jon or Tormund asked the old man why he had come to them and looked like he was ready to heel over and perish, he simply replied, "Soon. . . Soon you'll know." Tormund asked Jon if Davos was crazy, but Jon knew the man, his old hand. The man that helped him win the north and the loyalty of Daenerys Targaryen. He was not crazy, but that was over ten years ago, spring has passed, and the end of summer was upon them once more. Who knows what kind of things happened to him down south. 

As Jon reached the camp, three large tents were set up. The biggest had a column of smoke rising out the smoke hole. That's were Davos was staying, curled up in a mountain of fur. He likes to watch the flames dance, that's all he did. Sit beside the fire pit and watch the flames, muttering to himself. It was a sad sight to watch, but everything was sad these days. 

Tormund then emerged from the tent beside the larger one. His blue eyes darted to Jon then to the stag resting on the back of the horse. "You got supper, great." He walked towards the dead game as Jon dismounted his stallion. Tormund examined the dead animal for a few seconds before his eyes met Jons. He looked displeased, "Your wolf killed it."

"Ghost was very helpful," Jon simple replied, retrieving his bow and quiver from the saddle. 

"You missed again, didn't you," the large ginger grabbed the stag and heaved it onto his shoulder with little effort. 

"Does it matter, it's dead," Jon snapped, turning on the spot and marching through the snow, towards the smallest tent. 

Tormund followed, with the stag over his shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. "You're going to have to hunt more yourself. You can't solely rely on the wolf." Jon let out a long breath as he pushed aside the tent flap, entering the small space that was home to a bedroll of furs, a table stained with blood, a small fire pit, and a chest with Jon's valuables inside. "When the winter comes again, we'll need to hunt on our own to cover more ground." Tormund dropped the dead carcass onto the table before brandishing a hunting knife. "If I knew you were this lazy, I would have ditched you at the frost fangs," Tormund said, pointing in Jon's direction with the large knife. The large ginger man then turned back to the stag and proceeded to skin the dead prey.  

"I'm not lazy. I just. . . I don't know," Jon muttered, setting his bow and quiver down by the chest, before planting himself on the bedroll. His eyes felt heavy as he rubbed away the evidence of his sleepless nights from his grey eyes. Ghost pushed through the tent flaps and made his way over to Jon's side. He gave the big wolf a small smile as he stroke the soft pale fur. 

"That wolf and I do most the work around here, while you and that old blabbering cunt do nothing," Tormund complained. 

"How has he been today?" He didn't want to know the answer to the question. For a few weeks now, Davos seemed to be getting sicker, and it scared Jon. One of the only friends who hasn't abandoned him or died was on his way to meet the darkness that lay beyond. 

"Not well," a simple answer, but an accurate one. "We should head to Hardhome, my people there can try and help the old bastard," Jon rubbed his tired eyes once more. Tormund has been requesting that they return to the settlement of Hardhome to seek help for the dying smuggler.

"I told you, we can't. We have no idea who's after him. They could find us and kill him."

"We don't even know if anyone IS after him, he won't tell us anything!" Tormund shouted, slamming the knife into the table. 

"I know," Jon replied with a soft, calm voice. He knew Tormund's anger; he felt the anger himself most days. But he had to trust his old hand. Something was afoot they didn't know about. "We. . . we just need more time."

"When Jon!? When he dies? God knows it'll save on the amount of firewood I'll need to cut down. Always looking into the dam flames, he's turned as mad as that red lady back in the day," Tormund muttered bitterly before turning back around and continuing his skinning. "I don't want to be stuck here with you sorry assholes all my life. I want to go back to my people and start a family." Jon could feel the pain behind his words and felt a wave of guilt strike him. "When I accepted to help you an' the old man, I thought it was going to last a few weeks. Not two full moons." It was unfair to Tormund, Jon knew that. But he couldn't take care of Davos on his own. The consent nightmares that plagued him kept him awake all night, not getting any sleep — resulting in more terror during the day. Jon resorted on the help of the ale Tormund get's when he visits the local trading post by Hardhome. He ended up getting more and more each time. Jon was turning his focus more onto the soothing release of the ale than to the hardships of the life he was living.

"I can't keep doing this, Jon," Tormund spoke up in a soft broken voice. He set the large hunting knife down and slowly turned to the lone ranger with his large wolf companion. "I'll be off to Hardhome before the next moon turn," Tormund looked at Jon apologetically. "I wish I can stay longer and help you, little crow. But I have a life too," Tormund stated with a frown. 

"I know. Thank you for everything, Tormund. Truly, you've been a great friend," Tormund's glum look was replaced with a smug grin. 

"I'm your only friend," Jon replied with a sad smile. "You know, you could come with me. To Hardhome, the FreeFolk love you. And there are a lot of women you can fuck," Tormund raised his eyebrows, causing Jon to roll his eyes. He was never going to love another woman. . . Not after Dany. Not after that cold dagger found it's way into his shaky hand and into the beautiful queen's heart. Jon felt the tears start to collect in his eyes. He quickly rose from the bedroll and headed to the exit. Tormund's face fell as he watched his friend promptly rush to the tent flap. "What did I say?" 

Jon didn't reply, he just left the tent and into the cold world. The tears fell from his stormy eyes and down his pale cheeks. The memories of her silvery-golden hair and her bright violet eyes haunted him every day.

After quickly clearing away the tears that fell from his eyes, he stumbled towards the large tent that housed Davos Seaworth. Once inside the large tent, the warmth of the fire hit him, warming him from the cold. The fire was raging in the center of the tent, with the old smuggler watching the flames as he always did. He sat in a chair with a thick layer of fur resting on his lap. He didn't even glance over to see who has entered the tent; he kept his weathered eyes on the fire in front of him. Jon spotted several wooden bowls littered around the base of the wooden chair. The remains of stew still leaking from the smooth wooden surface.

Jon's grey eyes moved from Davos to the large cask of ale that was resting in the corner. Jon stumbled over to the half-full cask of beer and poured himself a cup. He then felt the smooth, comforting liquid flow into his mouth and down his raw throat. 

"Jon," Davos' soft voice called out to him. Jon pulled the flask from his lip and glanced over at the older man, still focused on the fire. "Where are we, Jon?"

_It's starting_ , Jon thought to himself as he gazed upon the old man. "We're in the North." 

"The North? No, no, we shouldn't be here," he muttered to himself, pulling his eyes from the flames, meeting Jon's grey steely orbs with his sad brown ones. "W-We should be in Essos. . . Yes, that's where we should be."

Jon sighed. _He has really gone mad._ The lone ranger made his way over to the old smuggler, kneeling in front of him. "You're safe, beyond the wall."

"Safe?" He looked at Jon with disbelief. "Nowhere is safe, n-not from them. T-The daughter needs to be reunited with the mother," He muttered once more, moving his gaze towards the flames.

"Mother? Daughter? Davos, what are you talking about?" Jon asked the old smuggler who just continued his stare into the flames, not answering his question. Jon huffed in frustration and gulped down some more of the ale before turning to leave. Before he walked away, Davos' old hand clamped around his wrist, preventing him from leaving. 

"She's coming, w-we need to protect her," Davos croaked.

"There is no she," Jon said bitterly, removing the old man's hand from his wrist. 

"When we first met, you were but a green boy, manning the wall. I helped you. . . Remember that? I help put a crown on your head, reunite you with your family. I put my faith in you. Now, look at you, a sad man in the frozen wasteland. . . What a disappointment you turned out to be." Jon studied the smuggler who gazed at him with old disapproving brown eyes. With a growl, Jon turned from Davos and resumed his drinking, washing away his pain. 

_He's just a crazy old man_ , Jon thought to himself as he stumbled towards the tent flap. Before he exited out into the cold world again, Jon looked back at his old friend, staring deep into the orange flames.

Jon left the tent still cradling his large cup filled with ale. He closed his tired eyes and felt the soft snowflakes gently hitting his skin. The soothing feeling shattered when a loud yell and a shrill scream was heard off to the right of the camp. Jon's eyes instantly snapped to the direction of the scream. Darkness blanketed the dense treeline, blocking Jon's view. 

Tormund and Ghost both came rushing out of the smaller tent, equally confused. "What the fuck was that!?" Tormund roared. 

Without responding, Jon reached down and drew his trusty Longclaw from its sheath. Almost simultaneously, both Ghost and his owner raced off in the direction of the scream. Ignoring any vulgar protest from his ginger friend. It didn't take long for the darkness of the night to grow colder and darker as they raced into the treeline — branches and twigs snapping under the rushing feet of the lone ranger and his dependable direwolf. Darting in between trees and ducking under fallen branches, Jon found himself at a small clearing with the pale moonlight seeping through and illuminating the small area.

Five guys, that how many Jon counted as he observed the scene in front of him. All were dressed in thick furs, and either had swords in hand or crossbows. _There not wildlings_ , Jon easily deduced. Wildings don't carry crossbows. Jon then spotted that two of the men were on the ground, wrestling with a smaller figure with dark hair. Her screams filled the silent forest as both men tried to bind her hands together with hemp rope. Jon didn't waste another second, charging forward and impaling the closest guy holding a crossbow. Ghost moved as Jon attacked, grabbing another attackers arm, dragging and ripping it apart. The man's screams joined the smaller figure in an ugly song. 

Pulling his blade out the limp man, Jon watched as the only man standing spin and look at him with wide, shocked brown eyes. "What the-" The man's sentence was cut short with a quick slash to the throat with Longclaw. His blood poured out his pale throat and onto the redding snow, which his dying body soon collapsed into. The two men holding the figure who appeared to be a small girl stood up and held their swords in front of them defensively.

"Who the fuck are you!?" One of the men with a large scar across his face yelled. His eyes were darting over to his companion who was currently getting chewed on by the giant wolf. "This is none of your business. I'm on the king's mission!" 

_The King? Bran? Why would he want these strange brutish men to capture what appeared to be a little girl?_ "What King?"

"Fuck you," the other man spat before rushing forward with a massive swing of his short sword. Jon easily dodged out the way of the rusting blade and cut through his arm like butter. The man went down into the snow with a bloody scream as he clutched his wound. 

He may be a pathetic downer, but he was still the best swordsman in Westeros. The last guy stared at him with disbelief and fear, stepping back a few feet away from the approaching mad man. "You crazy cunt." His eyes then flicked to the right of Jon and gave a swift nod. Before Jon could react, a speedy breeze flew past his ear, prickling the hair on the back of his neck. An arrow just grazed his nape and stuck itself in a tree trunk. Jon quickly glanced over to see the man in the shadows of the trees, holding a crossbow in his hands. He might have hit if it wasn't for a separate arrow protruding from his neck. His red blood slowly trickled down and into his furs, staining it with death. 

"AHH!" The man with the scar screamed his war cry, pulling Jon back to the current threat in front of him. As the man drew closer, his movement stopped as something grabbed his back leg. Giving Jon ample time to swing Longclaw around, decapitating the man's head from the rest of his body.

As the last hostile body hit the snow, he got a good look at the girl they were trying to capture. Her dark curly raven hair fell past her petite shoulders, and her body was covered with light fur that looked to be thrown over a simple dress not designed for the harsh northern weather. Blood stained her cheek and hands as she slowly got to a standing position, facing Jon. As she looked into his eyes, he felt his breath catch. Violet eyes, the same eyes he shut all those years ago. 

The lone ranger stumbled back a few steps in shock. Thinking it as another vision or nightmare, Jon quickly shook his head to free himself from his thoughts. When he reopened his eyes, the same shade of purple still stood in front of him with a disturbing glint. 

"JON! You okay, little crow!" Tormund came running into the moonlit clearing, with a simple longbow in his hands. "Who the fuck is that!?" 

The little girl's eyes left Jon's grey orbs and met Tormund. A look of displeasure and annoyance, the same look Jon recognized from his past lover. "Mother said that it's rude to cuss," The girl spoke in a soft voice. Jon didn't reply or break his stare as he looked at the figure with confusion.

"Where is your mother, little girl. Why are you being chased by these ugly fuckers," Tormund asked, kicking one of the dead bodies with his foot

"Why should I tell you, you guys could just be as bad as them," the girl commented, gesturing to the dead bodies lying in the snow. Ghost finished with his meal, trotted up to the girl with a happy smile. The girl seemed unfazed by the large Direwolf, leaving Jon in more shock. She just reached out a petted the wolf's pale fur, Ghost leaned into her touch as if he was accepting her.

"Listen here. We just saved your ass. I think we at least deserve a name," Tormund strode up beside the still silent lone ranger. The girl's amethyst eyes shone in the moonlight as she looked back at Jon's dark pools.

"My name is Rhaella Targaryen." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did she get all the way in the north? Why are men after her and Davos? What will Jon do?  
> Find out next chapter!!!
> 
> Thank you for reading, any comments/kudos you leave will be much appreciated.


	2. The last Targaryen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon comes to terms with the new visitor

"This is crazy," Jon muttered to himself for the hundredth time. He stood in the main tent next to Tormund who was sitting in front of the fire, stirring a wooden spoon inside a large pot over the flame. The Stag Ghost has killed earlier was cooked into the stew with a few turnips and other plant life they could find. It usually tasted like shit, but it got the job done. The way Jon swallowed the shit substance was by dumping a mountain of salt onto the revolting food.

"How many times must you say that?" Tormund grumbled as he lifted the spoon out the baking pot and raised it to his lips to drink the stew. "Yep, that's good to eat."

"How is it possible," Jon muttered, ignoring Tormund and his gross 'food.'

"Well it's simple, you cut the meat into little-" 

"Not your food, her!" Jon barked pointing at the raven-haired girl who played with his large white Direwolf in the corner of the tent. Ghost chased the nine-year-old around in circles until he tackled her and started to lick her to death, causing a fit of giggles to escape her mouth. 

Davos sat in his chair nearby, smiling, and sometimes talking to her in a hushed voice. When they brought her into the tent, Davos didn't even blink an eye, and just welcomed her. He didn't find her name strange or concerning; he just smiled and laughed. Davos didn't smile or laugh since the time they picked him out the snow two moons ago. But ever since that girl came, he had a hard time _not_ smiling. 

"What so impossible about her?" Tormund asked, swiveling in his crouched position to get a better look at the strange girl who called herself Rhaella. "She's just a little girl."

"A girl who claims to be a _Targaryen_ ," Jon hissed the last word with venom. He didn't want to think about that part of his family, not since he killed the last member that hailed from that fucked up line. But fate seems to have a different plan for him. 

"You southerners and your family names," Tormund shook his head.

"I'm not a southerner. And all the Targaryen's are dead," Jon spoke softly looking at the girl who rubbed Ghost's underbelly. Watching the child, he couldn't help but feel a sort of familiarity in the way she acts and looks. 

"I thought you were a Targaryen?" Tormund asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"I am-was-kind of, it's complicated," Jon said, running his hand over his face trying to wipe away the confusion and worry that had plagued him since saving the girl.

"It's only as complicated as you make it," his ginger friend replied before turning back to the stew. Jon looked from Tormund to Davos then to the girl who sat next to his wolf, stroking his fur. 

Jon felt his feet move beneath him, he knew what he had to do. As he approached the small group, the girl looked up at him with those bright amethyst eyes that have plagued him for ten years. He needs to do this. _I need to know who she is._

"Alright, listen here. I don't know what kind of crazy parents you have, but you're not a Targaryen. Wherever your mother is, she's not here, do you understand!?" Jon snarled, looking into the girl's eyes that held an unfriendly reminder of his past. 

"Jon," Davos said softly holding out his hand trying to calm the ranger down. "Jon, this is Rhaella Tar-" 

"I don't care what she told you or me. She isn't! It's impossible, Davos!" Jon shouted at his former hand, who flinched in his chair of furs. "You're sick. We can't have this little girl playing tricks on us." Jon turned back to the girl who's violet pools had a hint of sadness dwelling inside. He stepped towards her, causing Ghost to flip back onto his belly and bear his teeth towards him. _What the fuck!? Ghost wouldn't be hostile towards me!_

"Jon, you don't understand-" Davos said, trying to explain himself to the distraught northerner.

"I understand clearly! She's trying to pose as a Targaryen to fuck with us," he cursed, pointing a finger towards the sad girl. 

"No, Jon."

"Where's your mother? huh, where is she?" Jon asked the girl who hid behind Ghost. The direwolf stood defensively, protecting the girl. 

"In trouble," she mused behind the thick white fur.

"Trouble? With the same men who were after you?" Jon asked, still with a threatening tone.

"Jon, she's scared," Davos said softly looking between Jon and Rhaella. "Z-Ziry ik-iksos sȳz, ziry won't ō-ōdrikagon ao," Davos said to the girl in a calm voice. Jon didn't understand a word he just said. He had never been good with languages. But he knew that it was High Valyrian, he recognized the same dialect when Dany talked to her dragons. Davos wasn't as good at the tongue as far as he knew, his flea bottom accent was messing the words up. But the girl seemed to relax; she must've understood what the old smuggler was trying to say.

"What did you tell her?" 

Davos looked up at Jon, "That you wouldn't hurt her."

"I won't, but I'm not comfortable with her being here," Jon said glaring at the girl. "People were after her, if those people found her all the way out here, that means they can find you." Jon still didn't have a clue who's men they belong to, but it gave him a bad feeling in his gut. 

"They can't hurt me," The girl said with defiance, acting tough. She puffed out her chest and squared her shoulders, but she still looked small and weak, especially hiding behind the large white form of Ghost. 

"Yeah? Tell that to the two men that held you down earlier," Jon shot back at the girl who just replied with a pout and sat back down with a huff. 

"My brother was busy at the time," She stroked Ghost once more, relaxing the Direwolf. 

"You have a brother too? Great, where is he?" Jon asked, looking into the girl's sad purple eyes. No words left her mouth, causing Jon to let out a deep, depressed sigh. He turned back to the fire to see Tormund missing from his spot, the cooking container still hanging over the fire with the stew boiling inside. The wildling most likely went to find more salt for the god awful food.

"Jon, this is the girl I was telling you about," Davos affirmed, grabbing his calloused hand. 

"What, girl?" Jon asked the old smuggler who looked at him with weathered eyes. 

"The girl we need to protect, we need to reunite daughter and the mother," he croaked gazing back at the girl.

"I'm done protecting," He said, pulling away from his grasp. "I'm only protecting you because of what you did for me. That's all, a favor, nothing else." Jon walked away from them, hoping to be around more sane people. As he exited the tent flaps and out into the cold, the snow had stopped falling, and the sun started to rise in the east, blanketing the freshly fallen snow with a yellowish glow. Jon breathed in the fresh morning air trying to clear his mind. _This is just a nightmare, I'll wake up in my bedroll, and none of this will have happened._  

When he opened his eyes, he was still in the same place as before. Tormund exited his tent carrying an armful of spices. When he spotted Jon, he grinned. "I thought I might spice it up for your girl." 

" _My_ girl?" Jon asked his ginger friend with a confused blank stare.

"Your daughter," Tormund responded as if it was the most casual thing ever.

"WHAT!?!" Jon shouted with wide eyes. _That's crazy_. "She's not my daughter, no way. I only slept with two women, and both are dead." 

"But you said it yourself, you're the only Targaryen alive, but here she comes claiming she is a Targaryen. It doesn't take a fucking wizard to figure that one out," Tormund said with another grin. 

"She could be lying!" Jon replied with venom, trying to get his friend to see reason.

"Or not," he simply replied.

_He's gone crazy too_ , Jon thought as he looked into his friend's blue eyes. "Just make your shit stew," the lone ranger growled as Tormund left him to his pain. Looking into the orange sky, watching the sun slowly creep over the towering pine trees that surrounded their camp. _What have I gotten myself into?_ The thought of Rhaella being who she claimed to be brought an uncomfortable feeling in Jon's stomach. She didn't look too old. She had to have been born after the great war, meaning that Dany couldn't possible have birthed her. The little girl was a mystery, a mystery he did not want to explore. 

After a few more minutes in the cold, Jon went back into the tent to find Tormund handing bowls of his stew to both Davos and Rhaella. The girl looked at the bowl of stew with a sickened, scrunched up face. With a quick whiff of the hot liquid, she stuck of her tongue in disgust. 

"Look, Jon. She even has the same taste as you do," Tormund said with a grin. Jon didn't share his amusement. He only stared at his friend with a frown before taking another bowl out his hands. He looked at the girl to find her playing with the small spoon, not wanting to eat the foul substance. 

"Eat," Jon commanded. The girl only looked at him with sad amethyst puppy dog eyes, an expression he was going to get tired of very soon. "We have no other food. Eat or starve, it doesn't matter to me." Jon turned on his heels and walked over to an empty chair beside the fire, where he sat and ate the awful stew in peace. After a few soft grumbles in high valyrian, Rhaella began to consume the terrible food that Tormund cooked. 

Jon found himself dozing off in his chair with the wooden bowl falling out his relaxed grip and clashing against the dirt floor. When he drifted into his restless slumber, his last sight was of the girl curled up to Ghost, with his belly acting as a pillow for the child's small head. 

_The throne room was cold, ash mixed with snow, leaving an eerie feeling in the pit of his stomach. The figure with long Silver-gold hair was touching the Iron Throne. Her pale hand was caressing the armrest, feeling the powerful energy that radiated off the steel throne._

_The figure turned, and Jon was met with those same Violet orbs that visited him every time he closed his eyes. Her figure curved perfectly, a slender body, a pretty face, and a radiant smile. She approached him as she always did, with a broad smile and kind, loving eyes. Her pale, slender hand reached up and touched his cheek, giving him warmth. He leaned into her touch, enjoying every ounce of the small contact he was being given._

_"My love," his love muttered in her soft angelic voice._

_"Go, run," He said with a wheeze, looking into the eyes he loved so much. He tried to beg her to turn and walk away, to run from him. He has been through this dream so many times, and they all ended the same way._

_"No, you need to run. Go with her, our daughter. Bring her to safety, please," tears welled in her bright eyes as they stared into his grey orbs._

_Jon felt his hand enclose around the dagger on his belt, his movement all happening subconsciously. "Please, run." Salty tears were already running down his cheeks fiercely as the blade was released from its sheath._

_"Promise me you'll protect her," Daenerys muttered softly as she pulled him closer. Both her hands caressing his wet cheeks. "Promise me."_

_With a swift jab, her body went limp in his hands as the dagger stuck into her heart, killing her. He watched as the life left those beautiful amethyst eyes, and he screamed as he always did. He cried to the heavens and to whatever gods would cause this pain._

He awoke in the tent, letting out a bloodcurdling scream, thrashing around in the chair with anger and pain. The realization of his current situation hit him, causing the lone ranger to calm himself. The man tried to shimmer the violence that was threatening to burst out from within him. As he looked around the large tent, he spotted the fire still raging in the center, Davos was asleep in his chair of furs, and Tormund was nowhere to be seen. _He must've gone out hunting with Ghost; he_ thought to himself as he moved his achy muscles. Groaning in discomfort as he shifted his position in the shaky wooden chair. His plain linen tunic that hid underneath his studded leather vest was drenched in his salty sweat. 

"You had a nightmare," A small voice called out to him, drawing his attention to the little girl who sat on a stool beside the fire. Her knees tucked up to her chest, and her chin rested atop her kneecaps. Her deep Violet eyes gazed at him, giving Jon an uncomfortable memory of the same amethyst eyes that he witnessed in his dream. 

"Yes," he croaked as he got to his feet. He stretched his back, and the bones in his spine popped and cracked. He then made his way over to the familiar cask of ale that hides in the corner of the tent. 

"I have nightmares too." Jon ignored the girl as he continued to pour himself a drink he greatly needed. "About my mother, my father. . . And a three-eyed-raven." Jon stopped pouring the liquor and slowly turned to the girl, _Three-eyed-Raven? Bran?_

"What?"

Rhaella looked at him with sad, fearful eyes. "A raven with three eyes," she explained as she hugged her knees tighter. "Mother said that he is a bad man, that he wants to take me away from her."

Her violet pools started to well with unshed tears, _what am I supposed to say to that?_ Jon looked down at his drink and quickly took a few chugs of the soothing beverage. "Who is your mother? What's her name?"

"I usually just call her muña, but people around her call her Daenerys." Jon felt the tankard in his hand fall from his grasp, the liquid inside spilled from the cup and onto the dirt floor, splashing up his breeches. Jon didn't care for the mess; his mind was already Werling. _How? Why? She's Dany's child!?_

The action startled Davos awake, who looked around the tent confused. He then spotted the pair of them in a sort of showdown. Shock and uncertainty were visible upon Jon's face, while Rhaella looked almost equally confused with a dash of fear mixed in. 

"What did you say?" Jon asked with fear seeping into his gruff voice. 

"I said my mother gets called Daenerys," Rhaella squeaked, curling farther up on the chair she sat on.

"Jon, calm down," Davos said calmly, standing up from his chair with shaky feet. 

"Calm down!? This girl is claiming to be a child of a dead woman!" Jon spat in his old hand's direction. His eyes whipped back to the girl, her hair was uncanny to his own, the eyes were almost exactly the same as Dany's. The reason for his anger was the fear of the information to be true, which caused a whole mountain-sized of emotion to form in his broken heart.

"She is the daughter of Daenerys," Davos moved closer to the girl, putting himself between the two of them. "I tried telling you, but you wouldn't listen." 

"Listen? To this mummers joke?" Jon felt the anger start to bubble up within him once more. 

"Jon, she's not a mummer. She's your daughter, Jon," Davos said softly, looking into his dark eyes with determined weathered brown eyes of his own. _My daughter? This can't be true. She can't be!_ "Bran is trying to-" Davos didn't get to finish due to his eyes quickly turning frightening pale white. His body began to shake violently as he crashed into the hard dirt floor.

"DAVOS!" Jon yelled as he dropped down beside the suffering smuggler who twitched and shook violently. "Hey, stay with me!" Rhaella jumped out of her chair and looked down at the smuggler with a horrified expression painted across her small innocent face. "Get back. You don't need to see this."

To Jon's surprise, the girl didn't run, but moved forward next to the smuggler and quickly placed one of her palms on his shaking chest. She closed her violet pools and uttered a few lines in High Valyrian. Davos' body slowly stopped shaking, and the smuggler's body began to ease. His breath became a calm, relaxed exhale instead of the rapid shakey gasp. The girl lifted her palm and looked into Jon's eyes.

"He's fine now. The raven has left him," she spoke softly as if she was afraid Jon would lash out at her. But Jon could do nothing but stare into her eyes, something clicked in the back of his mind, and he spotted all the similarities she had with Daenerys and himself. The way her nose was shaped or how large her eyes are, her cheek structure, and even her eyelashes. She was the perfect combination of the pair of them.

"Little crow!" Tormund's worried voice broke his trance as he rushed inside the tent with Ghost by his side. Blood was covering some of Ghost's fur and stained some of Tormund's fur jacket. "What the hell happened to him!?" He looked down at the old smuggler with solicitude.

"I don't know, he just sorta had a shaking fit. Rhaella helped calm him down," Jon responded, looking at the girl with a small smile. A smile appeared on the girl's face, mirroring his own. 

"Do you think he can travel?" Tormund asked in a panicked voice. 

"What? Why?" Jon asked, looking at the wildling and the large direwolf beside him.

"Well, we just ran into some of those same men we saved her from. They were looking for her, and they weren't alone." _Shit._

Jon looked down at Davos then to Rhaella who looked scared and frightened at the news. _Protect her._ A distant voice called out to him. "Saddle the horses, we ride for Hardhome." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, any comments or Kudos will be appreciated!


	3. Hardhome

* * *

The track through the haunted forest and towards Hardhome has been a challenging ride. Getting the semi-conscious smuggler to ride a saddle was half the trouble. At many failed attempts, resulting in the older man falling into the snow, they decided to strap him to Tormund using a rope. The wildling didn't enjoy the idea too much, much to Rhaella's enjoyment. Many swears and curses were shouted into the sky as they finally got Davos a horse. The girl rode with Jon, sitting in between his arms as they curled around her slender form and grabbed the reins. Her small body was covered with the large fur cloak he was given by Sansa back in castle Black all those years ago. Watching the girl walk around with the large cloak almost made Jon burst into laughter a couple of times. But now settled in the saddle, with their luggage being dragged on a sled behind them, they were ready to set out. 

Looking back at the skeleton remains of the camp. He felt almost sad, leaving what had become his home for the past couple of moons. But he had a new mission, to get his daughter to safety. A daughter he didn't know existed until a day ago, birthed by a woman he thought he had lost forever. It was as if the gods were playing a massive trick on him, and they would lift the veil and reveal it to be some sort of cruel twisted joke. But as far as he knew, his own blood was between his arms, ready to be returned to her mother, the woman he loves. 

"Can't wait to talk to people who aren't a crazy old cunt and a less old crazy cunt!" Tormund shouted in delight.

Rhaella giggled at the ginger man's antics, the same laugh her mother made when he found her ticklish spot just above her waist. "Tormund, please. We have a child in our presence," Jon scolded his friends as they set out for their journey.

"Oh, please. The little princess doesn't mind a mild swear here and there. Besides, you swore in front of her many times already," he pointed out with a raised brow. 

"That's true," Rhaella muttered with another giggle fit. 

Jon only sighed and rolled his eyes. _It was going to be a long trip to Hardhome._  A few hours later, Davos fully came to, asking where they were and what was happening. Both Jon and Tormund tried their best to settle the old man, but it was Rhaella's calm voice that relaxed the smuggler.

The sun sank, and the stars twinkled in the dark night sky as they passed under the long scary branches of the haunted forest. Rhaella was fast asleep in his arms, resting her small head against his chest. He found a little comfort feeling his supposed daughter leaning against him. He couldn't fully wrap his head around it, _can this be real?_ He had kept asking himself over and over. _Can I have a shot at a happy life? Do I deserve it?_

Smiling slightly at the raven curls that graced the little girls head, his friend's voice whispered to him from his horse beside his own. "What do you think, father crow. Should we stop and make camp for the night?"

Thinking about the options, he believed if they could get to Hardhome faster, it would be better for all of them. "Nah, let's keep riding. Both Rhaella and Davos are asleep. We should be good to make a few extra miles." 

Tormund just nodded in response, looking forward at the snow-covered track ahead of them. A slight movement on his chest caused Jon to peer down at the girl, the dark cloak that hung around her like a blanket, fell from one of her tiny shoulders. Jon moved to cover up her body with the large fur cloak once more. "So, you finally accepted that she is your blood?" 

Looking over at the wildling, he considered the question. He didn't know the answer. _Is she my daughter?_ _She looks like me. She sometimes broods like me, but can I accept the fact that she is my blood?_

"I don't know," Jon simple whispered, looking down at the girl in question. A loud yell caused both men to snap their heads up in attention. The sound of men yelling and commanding was heard faintly through the trees in front of them, both ranger and wildling glanced at one another, unsure on how to proceed.

The girl in his chest stirred once more, lifting a tired hand to her violet eyes, rubbing away the sleep. "What's happening?"

"Stay on the horse," Jon simply commanded, swinging off the stallion with ease. Rhaella looked at him with shock and worry before taking control of the horse she was relaxing on. Swiftly unsheathing Longclaw from its containment, he turned to his white direwolf who has been following them since they departed. "keep them safe," he muttered softly to his wolf. The ranger then moved forward through the snow. 

"Jon, what are you-" Tormund started to protest.

"Shh. I'm just going to check it out," Jon whispered back at his friend, holding up a gloved finger to his lips. His ginger friend simply nodded, spurring Jon forward into the thick trees. 

As the light snowflakes fell onto Jon's furs and in his dark curls, he stepped cautiously, avoiding branches and twigs that could give away his location. The further he moved forward, the louder the voices got. The dark curtain that hung from the long thick branches of the pine trees broke as many bright orange flames lit the surrounding area up. Hurrying behind a thick trunk of a nearby tree, Jon peeked around the sap soaked log into the large clearing that was lit by the many torches that were held by men of different shapes and sizes. All of them rushing to one objective to the next, carrying crates, dissembling hide tents, or calming the horses. But what caught his dark eyes was the large contraption in the center of the clearing, pointed to the sky. It was a large machine shaped like a crossbow, a massive bolt loaded inside with a string pulled back taut — a Scorpion.

Jon has seen the deadly dragon killers in action. These were the things that killed his beloved dragon, Rhaegal. Jon remembered feeling the loss in his heart before the news had reached him. The bond he formed with the dragon was strong until it was shot out of the sky by that psycho pirate. But the apparatus in the middle of the snow-covered opening was something new. Larger, more detailed, it oozed a sense of dread and fear. _They have been improving the scorpion design. . . But why?_ Jon believed he knew why, but the idea still seemed a bit far fetched. Even though he just met his daughter, who was a child of a woman he had murdered, so anything could be possible at this point.

"Keep moving! We have to make it to Hardhome before those fuckers do!" A harsh voice yelled out to the men in the area. Jon spotted the voice's owner, a lean man with a slight beer belly, his face looked gruff and worn, a slight beard was appearing on his cheeks and chin, his hair was reclining, but the small amounts he still had was slicked back in a smooth oily fashion. He looked familiar, but a name wasn't forming in the lone ranger's mind. "And keep that thing pointed to the sky, we don't want that fucker sneaking up on us!" The lean man pointed at the operator who sat in a small seat at the rear of the scorpion. "We hit it once. We can hit it again!"

_What Did they hit? Drogon? Was he here for Rhaella?_ Jon has so many questions he wished could be answered. Satisfied with his scouting mission, Jon headed back to the others. He found them all atop the horses, Davos still sleeping on Tormund, and Rhaella was looking bored and tired.

"You're back, what is it?" Tormund asks, searching his features for answers.

"I believe we stumbled onto the camp of the men we ran into earlier," Jon replied, walking towards his and Rhaella's stallion. He spotted the look of fear on the little girl's face upon mentioning the men that almost kidnapped her. 

"What are we going to do?" 

Jumping back on the horse behind the girl, he glanced at his friend. "We need to ride to Hardhome as fast as we can. They're trying to beat us there, and they know our intention." Tormund's face filled with worry, but Jon moved his grey eyes over to the smuggler secured onto the back of Tormund. _I made him a promise_ , Jon told himself, looking over the older man's peaceful face. "Follow my lead," Jon kicked his horse, charging into the thick trees to his right, planning to go around the large column of enemy soldiers.

The trip took long due to the little detour, but it was successful. With only a few scares during their journey, they managed to make good time and soon found themselves outside the bustling settlement. Light's of campfires lit the hide tents with a bright glow, several silhouettes of cargo and trading ships were visible in the cold waters of the bay. The air was filled with the smell of cooked meat and loud cheers and celebration. No matter how cold it gets this far north, the wildlings always found a way to celebrate something. Rhaella was leaning forward in the saddle. Her body seeped with excitement. Jon couldn't see her face, but he could tell a broad grin was plastered on her face. A quick glance at Tormund to find a similar smile curling his ginger beard upwards. He was back with his people. Jon then thought about the journey they still had ahead. _What happens when they find a ship that is heading to Essos? Will his friend want to come with hem? Is it fair on him?_

"Are you ready, little princess? To see how my people celebrate?" Tormund asked, leaning towards their horse with a ginger brow raised. Rhaella was practically bouncing in the saddle, her head swiveled over to Tormund and nodded.

"Trust me, I've seen how the free folk celebrate. They're not suitable for young eyes. We're getting a ship to Essos as soon as we can, we can't stick around for those hunters to find us," Jon replied, spurring his horse forward away from Tormund. His supposed daughter turned her head back to look at him. Her face wore an expression of displeasure.

"But I want to see the Free Folk. Mother says they are wild, fun, and drink a lot," Rhaella stuck out her bottom lip in a sad pout. 

"You mother only knew Tormund and a few others. I was the one that lived with them. Trust me, you're not missing much," Jon replied, ignoring his daughter's apparent attempts at making him feel guilty. Thinking about Dany, draped in a silky dress, sitting on the end of Rhaella's bed, telling her stories of the north; sparked a sort of happiness deep inside him. A kind of joy he hasn't felt in a very long time.

"Father Crow!" Tormund rode up beside him as they made their way through the settlement. "We should at least get a drink."

"I believe that would be a good idea as well," Davos spoke softly behind Tormund. 

"See!" Rhaella held her chin high, looking towards his friends with a curt nod in approval. 

"You three are infuriating," Jon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're getting a ship, and that's it!"

Rhaella growled softly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. _She's going to be a handful_ , Jon thought as they rode towards the dock area. The farther they moved into the camp, the more eyes they drew. Many FreeFolk looked up from their celebration to stare at the newcomers. Whispers started to break out amongst the crowds, 'He's the White Wolf,' 'It's Tormund and the White Wolf,' were among the many whispers he caught with his ears. Jon was used to getting gawked at when he was around many ordinary folks; he was a supposed war hero. But Jon didn't feel like a hero, quite the opposite. But he endured their longing gaze. It won't be long till they can board a ship and finally get away from harm.

When they reached the dock area, they spotted several tent's that have been constructed along the bank. Many skiffs and long boats were tied up on the narrow wooden dock that stretched out into the freezing water. At one of the tents, a campfire was blazing, with many men sitting around with horns of ale in their hands laughing and joking with one another. One was a larger man, arms as thick as tree trunks, neck wide, and his head seemed almost small compared to the rest of him. A more modest but rounder man sat next to him, a yellow bear accompanied his lower face, his shaggy brittle hair fell loose down his face. the men were dressed in clothes that weren't the classic wildling fur, but more of a thick woolen coat and breeches. Light fur cloaks hung loosely around their shoulders, stained with meat grease and ale spills. Southern Westerosi, or Esossi, Jon deduced looking for any more signs. The last thing he wanted was to walk up to the sailors that could've brought the sellswords here. He didn't want a fight; he just wanted peace.

Luckily, another man exited the small tent, his hair a bright blue color along with his short stubble that prickled his face. A Tyroshi, Jon thought with a ghost smile. Looking back at Davos, he had a similar smirk upon his face. They were in luck.

Swinging off his stallion, he signaled to Ghost to keep close to Rhaella, which the beast gladly followed. He tightened his sword to his hip. "Stay here," Jon commanded his still sulking daughter.

"Get me down from here you idiot," Davos whined at Tormund who cursed something under his breath before helping the old man off his horse. With a roll of his eyes, Jon moved towards the Esossi camp. "I'm going with, Jon."

"No, stay here with the others, I won't be long," Jon spun back to face Davos who was helped down from the horse by Tormund. He walked better then he has for a while, surprising Jon. 

"Fuck off, Jon. I know sailors better than you ever will, you need me," Davos grunted walking over to Jon's position, staring into his stormy eyes with intensity.

"Fine, but if things go south, don't expect me to put my neck out for you," Jon snapped, pointing an accusing finger in the old smugglers face.

"Let's just get on with this," Davos waved his hand away and marched towards the Esossi sailors.

The three men all looked up at them with curious and cautious eyes.

"Friends, we're looking for a ship," Davos said with a wide smile.

"A ship?" The big man spoke with a deep voice. "You need no ship. You need healer." The sailor spoke in his broken common, indicating that they were in fact Esossi.

"My-" Jon glanced at Davos wondering how much he was willing to disclose to these unknown men. "-father here will be seen by a healer, but we have always wanted to see Essos."

"I want to see it before I die," Davos said with a glum tone, playing along with Jon. 

"Well, what do you offer?" The chubby man asked with a raised brow. He looked them over with greedy black eyes, searching for their coin pouches.

"Umm, I can offer you five gold dragons if you can get us to Volantis," As soon as he finished his offer, the three men barked in laughter.

"You must be joking!" The Tyroshi responded with a wheeze.

"We aren't going that far for five gold. You must be mad!" The chubby sailor chuckled. 

Davos glared at Jon, "how about twenty." Jon hoped he didn't have to give up all his coins just to get them to fucking Volantis.

"Listen, you must give us two hundred gold if you want to travel to the dragon city," the blue-haired Tyroshi replied with a smug grin.

"Dragon city?"

"Didn't you hear?" The small man asked, looking at Jon with an odd face. "Wow, you wildlings really are disconnected to the world. The big fucking dragon that Targaryen slut rode has made its nest in Volantis." Jon gripped the hilt of Longclaw tighter, he used all his self-control not to kill the man were he sat. He hated people referring to Daenerys like that, the mother of the child who was a few feet behind him. "If we travel there, who knows what that dragon could do. It's just bad for business," the chubby man replied. 

"What about Brovos?" Davos asked the three sailors who all looked at one another in silent conversation. 

"We're heading that way, but you'll have to pay of course," The Tyroshi replied, crossing his legs over one another.

"Five gold," Jon responded with his previous offer. 

"Five gold? Stupid man," the large man responded with a humorous smile. 

"Indeed, my good friend. Twenty," the smaller man responded, glaring at Jon, daring him to bargain. They had to get to Essos, no matter what. 

"Five-and-ten," Davos replied, causing all eyes of the sailors to flick to the smuggler.

"Eight-and-ten," The Tyroshi barked.

"Six-and-ten," Davos bargained, causing Jon to fear that they could lose this deal altogether. _What was he thinking!?_

All the sailors pondered the deal, looking at one another. A few tense seconds passed until the small man replied, "Fine, Six-and-ten. But you'll only get one cabin," _One cabin will do_. They needed to get overseas before it's too late.

"Done," Jon held out his hand for a shake. The chubby man gladly took his hand in his and gave a firm shake. "You'll get the money when we're on board." 

"We leave at first light, meet us here and we'll take you to the _Dragon's Bitch_ ," The Tyroshi explained. "My name is Varen, that's the captain-" he pointed a finger to the chubby man, "-Syrano. And our muscle, Vogenno," he finished, patting the large man on the back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you all, we'll be here on first light," Davos promised. _This was the best they were going to do_. No ships dared to sail the northern seas at night. But a sinking feeling grew in the pit of Jon's stomach, dreed and fear hung in the air. Those men are still out there looking for Rhaella; he can't let them find her, no matter what. 

After a short goodbye, they walked back to the horses, both Tormund and Rhaella were in a discussion about his food from the other day. "-you cut it up and pour the salt in."

"Eww, you eat that frequently?" Rhaella asked with a disgusted face. 

"Every day," Tormund responded with a broad grin.

"We got a ship, we sail at sunrise," Jon made his way over to the stallion Rhaella sat on top of. "We just need a place to rest for the night." 

"I know an old friend who lives around here," Tormund suggested looking around the settlement.

"An old friend I didn't know about?" Jon asked curiously, wondering what kind of plans Tormund had in store.

"You know her, but you refused to come out your sulky tent long enough to see her," Tormund helped the old smuggler back onto the horse while Jon jumped back up on his own.

"Lead the way." 

Then they were off, through the sea of tents, many different Wildlings coming out to get a glimpse of them riding by with thier sled of valuables hauled behind them. Rhaella curled into his chest more as they went, shy of the attention they drew by merely being there. Jon wanted to pat her back and whisper in her ear that everything will be alright, but he stopped himself. He didn't know this girl, and everything might not turn out alright. The army of bad men could come and murder them all, but those thoughts are best left inside his head. Tormund stopped his horse in front of a vast tent. It towered over all the others that were set up around it. A few Freefolk hunched over a campfire that was burning brightly. 

"Can one of you fuckers get Val," Tormund barked, causing all the wildings around the fire to glance at one another, muttering amongst themselves. _Val, the wildling princess?_

"Why should we?" Asked one of the Freefolk who had a shaggy grey beard.

"Because if you don't, I tell her you refused her good friend, Tormund!" The shaggy beard man stood up and quickly zipped into the tent, leaving the others to squint and stare at them all. Many of thier gazes stopped upon sight of him and the little buddle that curled tighter to his chest. After a few tense seconds passed, a woman in loose furs strolled out the tent. Her long blonde hair was flowing far past her shoulder and just above her hip. Her eyes glared at them with a cool grey or blue, Jon still couldn't decide even after all these years. Her eyes hardened when they rested on him, rage and disappointment oozed out her cold pools.

"JON SNOW!" Her voice echoed throughout the camp, silencing everything and everyone. All eyes turned on them if they weren't already firmly planted onto his form, Rhaella clung to his torso tighter, squeezing most of the air from within his lungs. If the little girl squeezed any tighter, she might break a rib.

"Val!" Jon gasped, trying to get Rhaella's arms to loosen around his chest. 

"Ten whole years you've been stuck up here, and not ONCE did you come to see me! I'm starting to think you've forgotten about me," Val's cold expression morphed into one of hurt.

"You? Never."

Val moved towards them, staring at the dark curled girl that was clasped to his chest. "We were wondering if we could share your tent tonight, Val. We' be going in the morning, so we should not be too much trouble," Tormund spoke to Val, who didn't glance in the gingers direction, her focus directly on Rhaella as she moved past Tormund and towards Jon. 

"We all know that wherever Jon snow is, trouble is sure to follow," Val stood right next to Jon, looking at the small figure that buried her face into Jon's furs. "And who might this little one be?"

Rhaella turned her little head slightly, peeking at the new stranger with one violet eye. "This is Rhaella, she's my-" 

"-Daughter," Val finished for him, gazing at Rhaella with a bright smile. "Well aren't you a cute one," Val poked Rhaella's ribs with a slender finger, causing her to giggle slightly at the touch.

"I hate to trouble you, Val, but we have nowhere else to turn for the night." 

"Well, you always have a place in my tent," Val spun back with a flurry of honey blonde hair.

"She seems fun," Rhaella commented, glancing up at his dark features.

"Trust me, kid. You don't know the start of it," Jon replied with a small smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Any comments or Kudos will be appreciated! 
> 
> Next chapter: Val confronts Jon; Unexpected guest arrive, And Jon makes a difficult decision.


	4. An Old War Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best chapter, to be honest, but I hope it entertains you still.

The celebration was in full swing. Drinks were pouring, stories were being shared, and laughter sang into the dark night sky. Jon sat on a small wooden chair a few feet from the circle of Wildlings, Davos, and Rhaella, who all sat around a cozy campfire. Val sat shoulder to shoulder to Rhaella, whispering in her ear from time to time, causing a few chuckles to echo from the girl. _What is she telling her?_ Jon asked silently in his head as he polished his sword. A job he does to get his mind off any difficult subject that might be clouding his mind. At the current state, everything was troubling him. The men after them, the girl, the possibility that Daenerys is alive and well somewhere in the world. _Would she be happy if I bring Rhaella back to her? Would she forgive me?_

"How about a story for the little one!" Tormund's voice roared over the fire, drawing everyone's attention to the large ginger man.

"What stories do you have that could be suitable for young ears?" Val quipped.

"I have plenty. I have you know. But this one is about her father, the man that spent all his life defending the innocent!" Tormund hoisted his cup into the air, making ale spill from its prison and onto the soft snow below. Jon looked over and shot his friend a silent glare. _I don't protect the innocent. I kill the ones I love,_ Jon thought to himself

"Muña already told me all about my Kepa!" Rhaella replied with a broad grin. Jon's ears perked up at the mention of Dany, _What has she told her? That I'm an evil man, a murderer?_ "She told me that he protects the realms of men from the evil white walkers." 

"That's true! You should have seen it little one, this man fought like a devil against the evil Wights, on this very spot!" Tormund pointed below him with a drunk finger. "He even rode a FUCKING DRAGON!" 

Jon closed his eyes at the mention of Rhaegal. The green dragon's death still affected him so. He couldn't imagine what it was like for Dany, how she processed her child's death, then the beheading of her closest friend, was unknown to him. It was the act that pushed her over the edge. And what did he do? He pushed her away, alienating her. What would've happened if he would've accepted her on Dragonstone? If he didn't tell his family his secret? Would she not have done what she had done, would they all be alive and well. With little Rhaella dancing in the halls of the Red Keep? Jon cursed himself, pinching the bridge of his nose and willed the unshed tears away.

"-and that's how he became King in the North," Davos finished. Rhaella's face was lit up in a great smile, and her eyes shone with a sense of child-like wonder. 

_I can't let them fill her head with wonder, not when the real world is nothing but depressing and shit._ Jon rose from his chair and crossed over to the group. "Enough tales. Rhae, go into the tent and go to sleep. We still have a few more hours till first light," Jon stated firmly causing all smiles and laughter to die. Frowns and scowls replaced the joyous expressions. 

"But I'm not tired," Rhaella snapped, pouting her lip.

"Jon, I'm sure the little princess can stay a bit-"

Turning onto the old man, Jon snarled, "NO!" His voice clear and venom-filled silenced Davos and any others that dared speak up to the angry northerner. "I don't care if you're not tired. Go!" Jon pointed towards the large tent, frowning at Rhaella, who carried a similar angry expression upon her small face. The little raven-haired girl got to her feet and stormed to the tent in rage, kicking over anything that was in her path. Ghost immediately shot up from his resting position and followed after the small girl. 

"What made you such an asshole?" Tormund asked with a look of disappointment.

"You shouldn't be telling her these exaggerated tales!" The lone ranger turned on his heels and headed into the tent. The ample space was filled mostly by cot's for residents to sleep in. Rhaella was tucked under a fur blanket on the farthest cot; her back turned to him. Ghost was resting under her, protectively. Jon could feel the anger that radiated off her petite form. Just like her mother, a dragon's temper. Silent whispers of high Valyrian reached his ears. _She can curse me all she likes_ , Jon thought bitterly to himself as he set his sword down beside his own cot. A small fire burned in the center of the tent, giving the space some warmth and comfort. With a painful grunt, Jon sat himself down onto the cot and looked into the flames. His gaze drifted from the dancing flames and towards his daughter. _When she is safe with Dany, I can stop worrying about her._

A cold breeze hit him as the tent flaps opened, and the honey blonde Val walked in. Her gaze shifted from Rhaella then to him. A disapproving glare burned him. "You really have a way with kids. You know that," She spoke softly, but anger lined her every word.

"I don't need to be good with them. I just need to get her to her mother." Val picked up a razor that sat on top of a small table in the corner of the tent. Jon watched her slender figure with cautious eyes as she swaggered over to his position.

She held up the razor for him to see, "Your beard is a mess." Jon only scoffed at the comment, _did she expect him to care?_ "I know you got this whole, 'I don't give a damn about the world' look. But you look like an offspring of a rugged black bear and a feral honey badger." 

"Do you think it matters what I look like?" Jon asked with a raised eyebrow. 

"It might help when you meet the dragon queen again."

Jon gulped down the large lump that formed in his throat, followed by a glance at the sleeping form of Rhaella. "She doesn't want to see me again," a soft, hoarse whisper escaped his throat. 

"Maybe. . . Maybe not. I only know one thing."

"And what is that?" Jon asked, switching his gaze back to the wildling in front of him.

"She definitely won't want to see you looking like that," Val scanned his form with disapproving eyes. Jon couldn't help letting out a small chuckle, causing the grin on Val's face to grow. "So. Will you let me trim that godawful mess." 

After a reluctant nod, the wildling princess dragged a wooden stool over in front of him. Val then started her work, trimming the massive beard that had made it's home upon the lone ranger's face. Jon sat uncomfortably as the woman did her business. "I worry about you," Val's soft voice broke his trance. She looked into his cold grey eyes with sadness.

"About me?"

Val nodded, continuing her work. "You're to caught up in the past. You're blind to what is now. What you have in front of you."  

"I have nothing, Val. Nothing," Jon reminisced, closing his eyes, stopping the painful tears that tried to creep into his stormy eyes. "Just snow and Ghost. But I've lost him as well," nodding his head towards the resting Direwolf that lay beside the still form of the little girl. 

"You know nothing, Jon Snow," Val replied, tugging the blade roughly across his black beard, causing Jon to gasp in pain. Her words rang inside his head, shaking memories from long ago, red hair and a fiery temper. _You know nothing, Jon Snow_. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to control his emotions. "You have so much more then you can realize."

They remained in peaceful silence for the rest of the shave. At the end of his grooming session, his large beard was no more. His facial hairs were tamed back, not quite stubble, but they weren't very long whiskers. He admired his new look in a rusty looking glass, combing his fingers through the prickly hair. "Thank you, Val."

"Don't thank me yet," Val set the razor down and gazed at Rhaella. "Thank me at the wedding."

Jon choked out a laugh. As if that was ever going to happen. _You don't marry someone who killed you; you kill those that had done the deed as_ he had done to his Night's Watch brothers, all those years ago back in Castle Black. What more could he expect from Dany then cold steel between his ribs? 

"You'll be waiting for a good couple of lifetimes."

"Well, better make it quick. Not all of us can come back from the dead," Val said with a smirk. 

Before Jon could reply, Tormund burst into the tent, dragging Davos along with him. Fear and panic were evident on their faces. They looked as if they had run into a mob of angry White Walkers. Pale, soaking with cold sweat, and hyperventilating. Both Val and Jon stood up, examining the two panicked figures.

"Jon! THEY'RE HERE!" Tormund yelled, tossing the old smuggler down onto a cot nearby. His yelling had unquestionably woken the sleeping princess. "They're here!"

"They? Tormund, who is here?" Jon asked his friend with a steady voice, hoping for answers.

"The Sellsword cunts!" Tormund looked over at Val. "Get all your men ready to fight-"

"We can solve this without bloodshed," Jon protested. Both wildlings looked at him, confused and dazed at his objection.

"I know I haven't been around for long, but aren't these the guys sent to capture Rhaella and kill you all?" Val's angry, confused eyes fixed onto Jon's grey storms.

"The fewer bodies, the better. If we can get them to fuck off till morning, we can get the girl out of here," Jon reasoned, glancing at the now fully awake nine-year-old. Her eyes sported dark circles under the sparkling Amethyst pools, her raven hair was disheveled and tangled together like an unraveled ball of string. "Keep her here," Jon ordered Davos. "I'll talk to them," Jon replied, grabbing Longclaw from it's resting place and marched out the tent into the chilly air. Val and Tormund followed after him, both of them rested one of thier hands on the hilt of thier weapons. The morning was upon them; the first rays of light started to peek over the horizon. Several figures atop of horses approached their position. The men wore thick fur and weapons attached to their waist or shoulders. They were armed to the teeth, short swords, long swords, longbows, and crossbows. Serval stallions were dragging a large covered up wagon at the back of the unit. There had to be a least twenty all riding on horseback, and possibly many more inside the carriage. The many hoofbeats caused the ground to shake, making Jon's stomach flip. There was no way they could take on twenty armed men, not with the girl and old man in the tent. Five wildlings that had been sitting around the campfire with them raced to their sides, hands on their short swords or axes. 

"Get back in the tent, tell them to stay put," Jon ordered, turning to Tormund.

"But you already told-"

"Do you really think he'd listen to me!?" Tormund stayed silent for a few seconds. He nodded and rushed into the tent, leaving them to greet their new guests. 

As they got to the edge of the small section of the camp, all of them dismounted and moved the rest of the way on foot. Jon noticed the leader of the group, the same guy he saw in the clearing the other night, the balding gruff looking sellsword that seemed familiar. A memory spiked within him, and he recalled seeing that face in the dragon pit in King's Landing all those years ago. 

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Jon asked as he searched each of the crude looking men's faces. All of them looked like experienced killers. _Why are experienced sellswords hunting a little girl?_

"Jon Snow! It's good to see you again," The leader of the group applauded with a large crooked smile. "We met once way back. Not for very long to be fair."

"Who the fuck are you?" Jon asked, looking at his gruff face, running through all the possibilities in his head.

"I'm hurt," he said, placing a hand over his heart, acting as if Jon hurt his feelings. "The name is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Lord Paramount of the Reach. And you-" Bron said, pointing a finger in his direction, "-are the famous Jon Snow. Or should I say Aegon Targaryen, I hear conflicting reports."

Jon growled at the use of his birth name. _He's trying to taunt me._ "What do you want, asshole?"

"I've lost something fundamentally important to me, and I sent some of my best men after it. But they turned up missing," he explained, walking around the camp casually. Jon gripped the hilt of Longclaw, ready for a fight if one occurred. He was sure he could take at least five or more of these fuckers before they killed him. And Val and the other Freefolk could take out the rest if they were trained enough. "But then, I've heard that you and your ginger buddy, what was his name. . . ugh, the filthy wildling." 

Val and the other Freefolk growled, gripping their weapons tighter. The sellswords copied their movement. _They're ready for a fight as well,_ Jon thought, looking at the heavily armed men.

"You've been aiding an enemy of the six kingdoms. An older fellow, Ser Davos Seaworth, I believe his name was."

"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about," Jon lied.

"Yes you do," Bronn said as he walked up beside him. "Is he in there?" He nodded in the direction of the large tent.

"Listen, I've had a rough night. So if you and your pals here can fuck off, that'll be very much appreciated," Jon hissed, causing Bronn to chuckle.

"Wow, even in your growing age, you still have a bite. I respect that," Bronn placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. With a deep growl, Jon knocked his hand away. "Here's the deal, I'll let you and your little smuggler freeze up here in peace if you give me the girl."

"What, girl?" Jon asked, acting baffled by the question. But Dany had always said he was a terrible liar.

"I know you protected her against my men. One was torn apart by a savage beast, one that fits your little pet's description," Bronn looked him dead in the eye, both challenging each other. 

"Why don't you go suck your king's dick, southerner!" Val spat, causing Bronn's gaze to shift to the blonde's direction.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing," Bronn licked his lips. Before he moved towards her, Jon pushed him back, causing serval of his men to unsheath their weapons. The Wildlings around Jon did the same, creating an uneasy tension to fill the air. "Now, let's not start a fight. We both know how that'll end." 

"With your head detached from your body," Jon growled in the 'knight's' face.

"You know, I always wondered what it would be like to kill a Targaryen. Does it feel powerful, killing royal blood? I would love to find out. But I guess you already know, don't you," Bronn mocked with a broad grin.

Jon roared as he drew Longclaw from its confinement, ready to slice Bronn open, balls to brains. But before his blade could reach the sellsword, his buddies jumped to his rescue, tackling Jon to the ground, prying Longclaw out his grip. A sudden rush of Wildlings raced forward, engaging with the sellswords. the sound of stells clashing against steel echoed in Jon's ears. Screams followed suit as many of his Freefolk companions fell to the blades or bolts of the enemy. Val was disarmed and injured. Two men had to pin her to the snowy ground to stop her from further retaliating. 

"Seeing you like this, Snow. It breaks my heart," Bronn pouted, standing over the pinned ranger.

"Why don't you go shove that fucking sword, right up your-"

Bronn smashed his boot into Jon's face, causing the world around him to become a blur. Bronn gave orders to some of his men, and Jon found himself being pulled into a seating position with his arms locked behind his back by a couple of the sellswords. With his vision still blurred, he could make out the annoying face of Ser Bronn and his stupid smug grin.

"You still there, pal?" Bronn tapped Jon on his forehead, causing him to hiss in pain. "And your brother said you'd be hard to kill."

_Bran?_  Jon tried to mutter, but his mouth was too full of blood to get the word out. Jon spat the red liquid out and onto the snow.

"But we're not going to kill you. yet." Jon growled, pulling against the men who held him in place. "You are going to be put on trial in King's Landing, along with your wildling friend, the old man, and the little girl."

"Fuck you," Jon spat in the sellswords face.

"I've tried to be NICE!" Bronn yelled, glaring daggers into Jon's grey eyes. "But you had to make things difficult. Now, you're going to watch as we hurt your little friends," Bronn looked at a group of men and a sick smile spread across his face. "Go get them," he pointed to the large tent that housed Tormund, Ghost, Davos, and Rhaella. Jon struggled some more, only for their grip to become tighter. He watched helplessly as five sellswords advanced on the tent with swords drawn. _Protect her_ , the distant whisper of Daenerys voice called out to him. 

As the five guys entered the tent, they sat in silence, listing for any noise. The sounds of steel clashing against steel echoed through the thick hide of the canvas. After a few more seconds of screams, silence hung over them once more. "It appears your wilding friend is tougher then we thought." He lifted his hand into the air and signaled the rest of his men to move into the tent. The men were around thirteen in total, some with swords, while the others with crossbows.

"NO!" Jon screamed, trying to break free of his hold. But his attempts were pointless; their grip was too tight. _Protect her_ , a voice in the back of his mind grew more powerful.

The men stopped before they reached the tent. Dazed, Jon struggled to spot the reason the men halted. But the crunch of snow, followed by the familiar sounds of his direwolf's growls, hinted to what caused the sellswords to freeze in their spot. The men in the center of the group parted, allowing Bronn and Jon a clear view of the new arrival. Standing firmly, anger blazing in her bright Violet eyes, Rhaella wore a massive scowl across her small features. Her dark, raven curls blew gently in the morning breeze. Ghost standing beside her, teeth on full show, fresh blood dripping from his maw. The giant white beast almost dwarfed the tiny girl, but the glare Rhaella was bearing was somehow more terrifying than the large direwolf. Tormund peeked his head out from the tent flap, his eyes filled with worry behind his ginger brows.

Bronn hesitantly stepped closer to the girl, "Rhaella, I presume."

The girl didn't respond.

"Okay, listen. This is how it's going to play-" Before Bronn could finish, he was intrupted by an ear-piercing roar, causing all eyes to dart to the soft blue sky. Jon was baffled at the sight that had met his eyes. A massive black beast flew down from the clouds above. Bat-like wings outstretched, blocking out the rising morning sun. He's larger then Jon remembered, his body was around two warships long. His black scales looked as dark as the night sky, with a shimmer of dark red glistening off the rough surface. All the men jumped back when the dragon landed beside the tent. It's massive body curling around the shelter, making the large tent look like a small hut. He watched as Drogon's head lowered down beside Rhaella, glaring at her enemies. 

It was a sight to see, a girl standing fiercely, with both a direwolf and a dragon by her side. 

"Okay, little girl. Let's not do anything rash," Bronn spoke with a soothing voice that was seeping with fear. Drogon and Ghost both let out a low growl. The dragon's maw opened, and a soft orange light began to illuminate the back of the giant beast's mouth. "No, stop," Bron backed away from the girl and the monsters, pushing some of his scared men in front of him. 

Violet eyes were burning with rage and anger. Her mouth opened and uttered the deadly words.

"Dracarys."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will explore many different POV's from all over the world, such as Dany, Tyrion, and Arya.
> 
> Any comments or kudos will be appreciated. And feel free to hound my terrible grammar lol.


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